


Muse

by ChaiAndChill



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual, Obsession, Photographer!Kylo, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shameless Smut, Stalker!Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaiAndChill/pseuds/ChaiAndChill
Summary: Waking up in a strange bed with a strange man is only the beginning of your problems.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuckingkyloren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkyloren/gifts).



> A belated birthday present to Lo! I feel so bad for not posting this ON your birthday, hope it was great!  
> Please mind the tags!  
> I do not own the Star Wars franchise or any of its characters.

     It’s so warm.

     That’s the first thing you think as you enter the world of consciousness. You can feel a fluffy comforter wrapped around you and a solid heat behind you. It’s always so cold in your dorm, but you think nothing of the suspicious warmth in your sleep-addled state, wriggling back against it with a contented sigh.

     A strangled groan sounds in your ear, hot breath puffing against the sensitive skin as a pair of arms slither around you and pull you more firmly against the body at your back. One massive hand grips your shoulder, thumb hooked around your neck and palm slightly sweaty against your collarbone, while the other possessively wraps around your hip. You can’t help the soft moan that escapes you when you feel an unmistakable lump grinding against your ass. 

     Of course, your mind decides at this exact moment to remind you that you had gone to bed the night before horny, depressed, and very much alone. It also -unhelpfully- supplies that the sharp, somewhat woodsy scent with notes of mint and amber is not your own.  

     Although it is vaguely familiar.

     You startle, unsuccessfully attempting to extricate yourself from your stranger’s embrace. 

     “Shh, shh, don’t struggle.” a rich baritone murmurs. 

     His voice sounds a little scratchy, as though rough from sleep, but that isn’t what concerns you. It’s that you  _ know  _ this person, the smell, the voice, even his touch seems distantly familiar to you. 

     You blink rapidly trying to dispel some of the blurriness of your vision and the sight that greets you causes the blood to freeze in your veins.

     Hundreds of photos of you line the walls of the room. You notice old coffee cups with what you assume are your lipstick prints on the lids and odds and ends that had disappeared from your dorm and purse that you could never explain. Various scraps of lace on the nightstand next to you look suspiciously like some of the panties you’d thought the dorm washer had eaten. The panties are bunched together and look to be somewhat crusted over in parts. You don’t need to think too hard to figure out what your stranger has done to them.

     “W-Who are you?” you stammer, already aware that the man behind you is much too strong for you to fight off.

     He has the audacity to chuckle at you, rubbing his nose along the slope of your neck.

     “Depends on what day of the week it is, tiny muse.” he responds mirthfully. 

     Your muscles tense more than they have already as you spy a blonde wig and pair of glasses on a desk nearby.

     “M-Matt?” you guess, trying to turn around to see your stalker’s face.

     The man behind you hums in response, pressing kisses on your shoulder that send shivers down your spine.

     “Sometimes.”

     You try to push yourself up to sit but ‘Matt’, and whoever else this psychopath has pretended to be, wraps a heavy leg around your lower body, using the momentum to roll over and straddle you.

     Before you can get a good look at his face, one of his hands covers your eyes while the other grips your wrists above your head. A flash of pale skin and dark hair is the only thing you can commit to memory.

     His lips are on yours, suddenly. His kiss is demanding, needy even, as his fleshy, pliant mouth moves against yours. Though your heart is hammering in terror at your situation, a dark, shameful part of yourself can’t help but revel in the way he skillfully works your mouth open for him.

     You know this kiss. You hazily recall an incident at a house party several months ago where you’d drunkenly draped yourself over a guy you’d assumed had been a frat boy and had shamelessly made out with him. His touch had been expert, driving your sloppily inebriated mind into a frenzy of lust and obnoxious giggling. 

     He’d told you his name was Ben and when you’d tried to drag him up to one of the rooms, he’d made up some lame excuse about needing to use the bathroom and you’d never seen him again. 

     “Ben?” you shakily ask against his lips, although you know the answer is most likely not completely correct.

     Another chuckle and a peppering of kisses against your collarbone is his response, followed by a murmured:

     “Once.” 

     Until now, you’ve remained docile and the man on top of you has been gentle but the horrible reality of what is likely going to happen and the uncertainty of what happens  _ after  _ has your anxiety mounting to levels that are becoming impossible to ignore. You’ve watched enough crime TV to know that there is a slim chance you’ll get out of this with your life. 

     Loud, ugly sobs wrack your body and you again try your hardest to throw the considerable weight of your kidnapper from your body. You  _ know  _ the effort is fruitless but as panic sets in, logic falls to the wayside and the more he restrains you, the more you fight against him.

     “ _ Be quiet! _ I don’t want to have to hurt you.” he growls, his grip on your wrists tightening painfully.

     You can feel the bones in your wrists grinding together and you regret ever admiring the way ‘Matt’, your chemistry tutor, had towered over you. You regret finding the strength behind ‘Ben’s’ hands as they’d gripped your hips so bone-meltingly arousing. 

     In this moment, there is nothing more horrible than the difference in your size and strength. It is a reminder of how helpless you are and how easily this man can take what he wants from you. 

     “Please no, please, please…” you babble almost incoherently, the fight draining from you in the face of such an oppressive truth.

     Your captor removes his hand from your eyes and you blink rapidly, trying to dispel the tears blurring your vision. The same face you’ve gotten used to looking over your shoulder and correcting your work and the same face you’d sloppily kissed when you were drunk looks down at you in mild irritation. Without the blonde wig and glasses and without the haziness of impairment, his face seems sharper, his brown eyes unnervingly intense. Wavy, shoulder length raven hair frames his fair, beauty marked face. Everything about his face is so harsh, the vivid contrast of his skin and hair, the strong lines of his prominent nose and jawline, his angular eyes. The only softness to be found is in his mouth: pouty and pink, with the subtle dip of his cupid’s bow. While his face might look as if it could have been carved from cold marble, his lips are those of a lover.

     You know this man, beyond his aliases, albeit vaguely. 

     “Kylo Ren.” You whisper, as if afraid to speak too loudly. 

     He’d been a speaker at your school, a wildly successful photographer that had graced your less than stellar university with his presence. He’d been almost sullen on stage, the picture of the brooding, tortured artist and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t found him incredibly attractive.

     You are dumbfounded that he’d singled you out from your peers, let alone the litany of artists and models he was likely regularly acquainted with. Dumbfounded and flattered, in a twisted sort of way. 

     It is confusing, the combination of confusion, attraction, and terror. There is no explanation for the thrill of electricity that zips through your veins as you lie beneath your predator. 

     He must realize your inner conflict, for his lips quirk up into a cruel smile. There’s rustling of fabric as he scoots up your body and you feel the sudden weight of his cock, hot and somewhat musky smelling, on your -alarmingly- bare chest. 

     You begin to thrash anew but the threatening glare he sends you stills you just as suddenly as you’d started.

     “Spit.” he demands, holding his free hand out to you, palm up.

     You comply timidly, turning your face to the side and squeezing your eyes shut. You can hear him work your saliva over his length, the slick sounds of him jerking his dick causing your face to burn in mortification. His knuckles rub against the skin of your chest, between your breasts and you have never been more afraid and yet aroused in your life. 

     “Look at me.” he growls, tightening his bruising grip on your wrists.

     You feel the bones creak at the pressure and you open your eyes wide to stare at Kylo, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You can see his cock in your peripherals, flushed red and angled towards your face. His hand seems to handle it’s girth with ease but you doubt you could wrap your own hand fully around it. 

     The moment seems to last forever, his hand grinding your wrists together as he pumps his shaft, laden in your spit, between your breasts. His dark eyes never leave yours, even as his dick twitches in warning of his approaching release. 

     “Open your mouth- Open your mouth,  _ now _ !” he pants, desperate, and you don’t even consider disobeying him.

     Hot, bitter cum spatters on your tongue and across your cheek, narrowly missing your eye, as Kylo cums with a quiet groan. The raven haired man leans down to you, licking up his cum from your face in broad stripes before shoving his tongue in your mouth, forcing you to swallow the mixture of his seed and our mixed saliva. 

     It isn’t until after he’s pulled away and the opportunity is lost that you think to bite him. 

     “Such a good little girl for me.” he purrs, nuzzling your neck before lightly sucking on your earlobe.

     If the situation were different, you can imagine that you would enjoy a similar act, but in a room surrounded by hundreds of photos of yourself and far too many creepy, stolen mementos, you find your libido very much subdued.

     “Good girls get rewards, my muse.” he grins wickedly, another action that sends a confusing spike of arousal and repulsion through you.

     He lets go of your wrists and your hands prickle painfully with the pins-and-needles feeling of your blood flow returning to them. You don’t fight him, the fact that he’s gone to such insane lengths to infiltrate your life and kidnap you tells you that he probably has a (painful) plan for if you do try to rebel and escape. No, it’s better to go along with it for now. After all, you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

     You squirm slightly as Kylo kisses a trail down your torso to your unclothed bottom half. This is so wrong and you’re ashamed at the tiny thrill of anticipation that travels along your spine as the photographer-turned-psychopath closes in on your somewhat damp center.

     Kylo wastes no time in devouring your pussy. He licks from your puckered anus to your clit, spitting into your cunt as his lips and tongue work you open. 

     Unconsciously, you angle your hips upwards toward him, gripping the sheets for dear life. You feel him smile against your lower lips before sucking them into his mouth, his large, pointed nose bumping against your clit in his enthusiasm.

     You’ve never known a guy could be so… fervent about this act. Kylo grips your thighs to pull you as close as possible to his face. He moans loudly, the sounds vibrating against your engorging bundle of nerves as he murmurs absolutely filthy praises into your steadily slickening center.

     “Fuck, your pussy’s delicious,” he growls, “wanna lock you up and eat this cunt forever, little muse.”

     You shake your head vigorously at that, appalled both by the suggestion and the response your body gives to it. You don’t want this, you remind yourself, trying to fight your mounting orgasm. You  _ -can’t-  _ want this, it’s so fucked up and wrong and you feel so dirty and worthless for your body reaping such pleasure from it.

     Tears fall from the corners of your eyes in frustration and anguish.

     “Why are you doing this?! Why couldn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?!” You nearly shout in your fury over the situation.

     Kylo pulls away from you, grinning eerily, the entire lower half of his face glistening in a slimy mixture of your juices and his saliva.

     “Because then I’d have to follow your rules and I play by no one’s rules but my own. I wanted you and so I waited and planned and took you.” he responds simply.

     He works one thick, long digit inside your dripping entrance, soon followed by two more, pumping steadily into you. You bite back a groan desperately trying to fight your body’s reactions to his ministrations.

     “It’s so cute how you try to resist, even now when I can feel your cunt tightening around my fingers, trying to suck me back into your tight little hole.” Kylo chuckles before unexpectedly slamming his fingers hard inside you.

     The sudden force causes a breathless gasp to leave your lips. Your cheeks burn in humiliation and you can’t fight the ugly way you’re crying, even as your body sings for the man on top of you. Kylo continues to fingerfuck you, alternating between staring adoringly at your tear-streaked face and watching his fingers violate you. He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing hard, tight circles against it and you know in that instant that you’ve lost your battle of wills. 

     You cum seconds later with a cry of despair, body pulled taut in the throes of orgasm. You hear several clicks and when you blearily look up, you see that Kylo has somehow grabbed a camera.

     “Your expression was  _ art _ . Gorgeous muse, I’m going to keep you here and photograph you forever. You were  _ made  _ for me, made to be the star at the center of my lens, don’t you see?” he gushes, cheeks flushed and speech frenzied.

     You weakly try to push him off of you, horrified. He merely sets his camera down and flips you over, pinning you by your neck to the mattress and forcing your legs into a kneeling position. You turn your head to the side to avoid suffocation. The sound of his camera clicking several times makes your body shake with the force of your sobs.

     You feel it against you then, the fat, burning head of his cock. He takes even more pictures as he forces his way inside your wet passage. Even with your residual cum from your climax, his dick stretches you to the point of pain. You try to wriggle away from him but that only encourages him to grab your hips and ram all the way into you.

     A strangled cry falls from your lips and you swear you can feel him in your belly. He’s so deep within you, you’re surprised he hadn’t somehow injured your cervix.

     “God, you’re so tight, so fucking perfect. I’ve wanted this for so long, little muse.” he whispers as he leans over your body.

     He begins slowly, rocking his cock almost gently inside you to get you used to his formidable size. You try to hold on to the last vestiges of pain but those quickly give way and you feel lust begin to pool within you. 

     “We can do this every day, my muse. You, bent over with your beautiful ass presented to me as I fucking take what is mine. Or I’ll even let you ride me, bouncing on my cock while I ruin your pretty little pussy.” Kylo groans in your ear before forcing himself up and increasing his pace. 

     He’s apparently deemed you thoroughly adjusted as he slams his hips into yours with enough force to knock the wind out of you. All you can do is grip the sheets beneath you and try to ignore the way your traitorous cunt spasms joyfully around Kylo’s shaft as he plunders you. 

     You stare blankly at the wall, identifying pictures of yourself. There are ones of you sitting in class, ones of you grocery shopping, even several photos of you changing and masturbating. You wonder what he’ll do when he runs out of wall space for his obsession. 

     Kylo loops his arms around your shoulders and clasps his hands at the back of your neck as he lifts your torso from the bed and continues to ravage your pussy. The new angle causes him to repeatedly hit that special spot inside you and you can’t contain the mewling noise that escapes you. 

     You’re not sure how long it lasts before you realize how close to the edge the both of you are. Your tired cunt twitches in warning around Kylo’s swelling cock. Kylo comes first with a roar, pumping you full of his seed and you feel yourself come undone as he pumps into you through his orgasm. You feel Kylo shudder above you due to the overstimulation of your rapidly pulsing passage.

     When he pulls out of you, you hear the click of his camera yet again before he presses you back against his chest, uncaring of the mess that is between your thighs.

     “You’re mine now, perfect muse, and you’ll never get away from me.” he whispers darkly.

     As his smooth, rich voice filters in your ears and his seed filters out of you, it feels as though you’ve somehow invited his madness inside of you.

     There will be no escape.

**Author's Note:**

> Totally listened to 'Sweet Tangerine' by the Hush Sound and 'The Horror of Our Love' and 'Overdone' by Ludo while writing this. Sad they aren't around anymore.


End file.
